Sherlock's Son
by The Science of DeductionSH
Summary: Sherlock shows his son; what it means to be a consulting detective. But Molly doesn't like the idea of her son traipsing around crime scenes. But when a secret from their past comes back to haunt them, will they tell their son the truth? or will their family be forever divided? Sherolly! Warning: This story gets very angsty! On short Hiatus...
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I don't own any of the characters by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, or BBC. I only own the thoughts I have on season four; which I have written down for you. Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat, are the real creators of the show.** **All this work is for entertainment purposes only, not for profit or gain. Recent edit: I'm currently polishing up the chapters, so if I were you I wouldn't read past the first until i'm finished. Enjoy!**

* * *

The warm morning air whisked upstairs through an open window from the adjacent bedroom, blowing away the stale oxygen from the previous day.

Sherlock's eyes slowly flickered open as if his brain was telling him to wake up. But the exhaustion from the recent cases force his eyes to close again. London had been under a heavy crime wave the past two weeks, almost too heavy, and Sherlock almost, 'Almost' found himself wishing to be bored again to stave his mind from the dizzying pain of overuse. But thankfully, it petered out before any serious injuries occured. Now things were calmer and he wasn't being bombarded with hudreds of cases left and right. Now he was home with his family again.

The detective turned his body over trying to find a more comfortable position. He had slept thoroughly through to the next day, going by the shard of light piercing through the maroon curtain drapped over the window, parallel to the bed. When his eyes catch sight of something sparkling on his nightstand, he's overcome with sudden intrigue, and takes a quick peek.

Sherlock smiled softly as he laid eyes on two gold rings resting on top of each other on his nightstand, with a blue diamond encrusted in the head of the underlying band. Sherlock remembered that special day that he took the brown-eyed pathologist as his loving wife. Everyone that he had ever cared for filled the isles, including Mycroft, who was most certainly touched by the experience even if he tried his best to hide it with his usual stoic behavior and emotionless expressions when he glanced over at him from time to time. Mrs. Hudson was her normal, happy, tearful self and sat next to him in the front row, crying and sniffling through the entire ceremony, and Lestrade was grinning from ear to ear with only a hint of sadness and jealousy in his eyes. But that was to expected considering his many failed attempts at having a family, his desire to have just a small part of the love that Sherlock and Molly shared as they stood before the priest at the alter, exchanging their vows to each-other— caring oaths of love and protection that they would charish all their days. The detective knew of this and considered not inviting Lestrade, but one shaky but determind look from him changed everything, and he found his hand barren of the inscribed invitation a minute later.

Then there was Mary that occupied the last seat nearest to him. Though Sherlock didn't tell John this, he was at first a bit sceptical of her fidelity towards his best friend. Also, the fact that she shot him had almost sealed his decision, but that skepticism was laid to rest with the many years of companionship and the baby that John and Mary cared for together. Mary had proven that she could not only be trusted but also counted on, and John was her last chance to settle down and begin a new chapter of her life away from the horrors that filled her previous one.

Then of course, there was John. John gave him strength when he hid out in a linen closet away from the crowd and the pressure. John calmed his raw nerves with just a simple gesture as placing a strong unwavering hand on his shoulder and speaking in a soothing, unpatronizing tone when Sherlock professed his unworthiness and undeserving persona to wed such a wonderful woman as Molly Hooper, listening to his ramblings about not having the heart or the sentimate and compassion to raise a family— To be a father.

Unsurprisingly, John had also been the one to talk Sherlock out of his insecurities and give him strength to face what lied ahead.

John had always been his wall to lean upon when his strength gave out. He didn't know if it was just because he was a soldier, or his best friend that meant incredibly deeply to him, but one look into his assuring green eyes and Sherlock instantly felt right about things again, he felt in control of himself. And Sherlock had never needed him more than when the priest ushered for the rings to be given out. His legs had felt like jelly, weakening to the point where it took great effort to remain upright. John had sensed it as he usually did and just grinned knowingly and happily at him, his joy evident in all his features.

Seeing John so purely happy, had helped ease the remaining nerves. He was standing at an alter about to marry the most amazing and beautiful woman in the world, with his best friend in all the world, and there was no other place that he would rather have been. Even a thousandth level case. He had found his perfect match.

The detective blinked away the dampness of his eyes, shifting his gaze away from the table. A shudder of delight hit his body as he scanned the art gallery taped to the walls.

Sometimes on occasion he would wake up, and the rings and drawings would both be gone. But it was just his brain's way of coping with the fact that someone actually cared enough to spend the rest of their life with him, and all his flaws.

Even with all his intellectual prowess, he couldn't deny that it was a true miracle.

Sherlock turned over, tugging the sheets slightly from the movement. The still, sleeping figure next to him was softly snoring, the streak of sunlight that was previously resting on the floor, was now illuminating the luster of her alabaster skin.

Sherlock slowly leaned in and tenderly pressed his lips against her's. The familiar gratifying spark pulsed through his body upon contact. Granted, before he married Molly, there weren't very many women he came that close to, Janine being the only exception, but he felt no deep connection with her, no real love. She was merely a a pawn used for the personal gain of breaking into Magnussen's office.

The Woman held a similar purpose. She had slithered her way into his life like a modern day Medusa, trying but not failing completely to seduce the detective, making him lose concentration on the bigger picture. He had to admit the weaving of mystery wrapped around her had enticed him. Finding someone he couldn't deduce had never once happened, nearly everyone was an open book and he was the keen reader with the sense to always see behind their facades, their masks to the flesh underneith. So he played along with her fantasies, and in the end, the truth of Iren's feelings, the love that she so desperately tried to hide but failed to, had been her undoing spelled out on the screen in only 4 letters. Sherlock had won and proved that he was her heart. But she wasn't his.

Molly Hooper was his heart.

Sherlock separated his lips as soon as he felt her stiring beneith them a few seconds later.

"Oh, Sherlock," Molly mumbled, her eyes still closed. "Can't you wait till I'm awake?"

"Don't pretend you didn't enjoy it," Sherlock said, smirking.

Molly opened her eyes and smiled mysteriously, leaning in to return the kiss. It was just like him to wake her up in such a sweet manner, with his warm, deep baritone pouring over her. — She often had daydreams of that very same thing when she was still engaged to Tom, but thankfully Sherlock had been there to save her from marying what turned out to be one of Moriarty's henchmen just put there to keep a whether eye on Sherlock. Of course, after the incident at John's wedding, he had lost some appeal to her, and that's when Molly knew that she needed a more intelligent husband who didn't think a meat dagger could ever be the murder weapon in any case.

It was a close call to say the least, and now Sherlock had her wondering something else.

"Sherlock?"

"Yes?"

"Why are you trembling?"

Molly had never seen Sherlock tremble before, but she couldn't deny that she felt Sherlock's lips quivering on hers. Something must have been troubling him, but what on earth could have caused her handsome brave husband to be so disturbed.

Sherlock must have sensed the insecurity in her voice, because the next thing she felt was his hand carressing hers and soft blue eyes boring into her.

"I'm still coming off from the mental high of the past few weeks," he answered calmly.

Molly nodded. "You're not in any pain are you?... Because I can give you something to help ease it, if you are."

No. Don't worry. When they're interrupted by a few fast knocks on their door.

Though it was unnessasary, Sherlock deduced light but quick footsteps padding towards their room. The hollow sound denoting shoes, and urgency in the stride was under the stress level of emergency.

Sherlock and Molly, bid their son entrance.

There he was all fully dressed in small grey pants, wearing a dark blue trench coat- much like his father wears, topped off with a tangled blue scarf around his neck.

"I'm ready. You promised I could come to work with you today."

Sherlock looked into his son's greyish-blue eyes, at his dark-brown curly hair mixed with a slight auburn tint from his mother.

It seemed like only yesterday, he was holding him in his arms, and rocking him back and forth to keep him from crying...

* * *

 _Sherlock walked over to the cradle and scooped up little Hamish into his arms.  
_

 _After a few minutes of rocking back and forth, while calming him with his deep, husky voice, little Hamish stopped crying, almost instantly. Sherlock placed him back into the cradle and he was greeted by the smiling face of his son._

 _As if out of instinct, the detective held out his finger for little Hamish to hold onto._

 _The moment his son's tiny hand grasped onto his finger, something happened inside him._ _Strange feelings began to take-over. This tiny, helpless, and vulnerable infant, was now a big part of his life and getting bigger everyday._

 _"There was a time when I didn't think I would ever have a family. I lead a very dangerous life solving cases with Lestrade and uncle Mycroft. But I promise you, that I will always be there for you and protect you to the best of my abilities."_

 _Sherlock smiled warmly at his son and gently rocked the cradle to help him fall asleep._

* * *

The detective snapped out of it and turned toward his son. "So I did," he says, while untangling the blue scarf around his neck.

"There's something you're both forgetting before you two leave the house," Molly interjected.

Sherlock and Hamish both looked at each-other, and answered simultaneously. "No, I don't think so."

Molly sighed. Naturally they wouldn't remember. "You both need to eat something before leaving."

"Mother, I don't eat when I'm working, digestion slows me down," he says, placing his hands squarely on his hips in protest.

Sherlock giggles slightly at his son's words, but is soon caught by Molly's, 'Look what you've done face.'

The detective soon regains his composure. "You're not working yet, so go do what your mother says, and eat some breakfast before we go."

He motions for his son to come over, and whispers in his ear. "Don't worry, we'll have plenty of time to digest before we get there." Sherlock winks playfully at his son.

"All right." Little Hamish says, sulking on his way out the door.

...

"Sherlock, how many times do I have to tell you, Hamish is at that age, where he mimics everything he sees and hears. You need to be careful. You don't want him getting wrong ideas about things."

"Yes dear, i'll be more careful." Sherlock says, climbing out of the bed.

The detective quickly slips on some grey pants, and his dark purple shirt.

Molly bits her bottom lip, as she walks over to him. "You should wear purple more often." she says, while running her hands up his chest, and tracing her finger around the outline of his abs.

They both lean in, and caress each-others lips... Sherlock pulls her closer with his hand around her waist, and gently cups her face...

They soon pull apart...

"We need to get a move on, or we'll be late for work," Molly says, eyeing the clock on their bedside table.

She quickly gets dressed, and walks out of the room with Sherlock, into the kitchen.

...

While Molly prepares breakfast, she finds something strange in the refrigerator. "What's this?" she asks, eying the purple glob in a bowl.

"Mummy don't touch it, it's an experiment."

"Alright Hamish," Molly replies.

"Sherlock what about you, is there any place in the refrigerator, I can't touch?"

"Nothing really substantial, but if I were you, I wouldn't disturb the bottom shelf too much," the detective replies.

She smiles. _It was like she was living with two Sherlock's. Even one was a handful, she thought to herself._

After Molly finishes cooking breakfast, they sit down to eat...

...

"Hamish, don't play with your food," she says, watching her son mangling a piece of meat.

"But mummy, I need to solve the crime," he retorts.

"Son, they'll be plenty of time to solve crimes later, the sooner you eat, the sooner we'll go." Sherlock says.

"Ok!"

The two of them, both watch, as their son finishes his breakfast in record time, and places his bowl in the sink.

"I'm finished, let's go daddy," Hamish says quickly, while getting up from the table.

Sherlock and Molly look over at each-other, and start laughing.

"Do you think you can wait for your mortal father to finish eating?" Sherlock jokes.

Hamish shrugs, and runs to his room. "I'm going to get my equipment."

...

Molly looks more distressed than usual, as she makes her way over to the detective. "Sherlock, promise me you'll be careful today, and absolutely, under no circumstances, are you solving murder cases with our son.

"I promise," Sherlock smiles reassuringly at her, while slipping on his trench coat and shoes.

"Are you ready son?" Sherlock asks.

"Yes daddy, the game is on!"

Sherlock kisses Molly goodbye, and heads off with his son to work."

* * *

 **A/N: I hope you enjoyed reading this:) Chapter 2 will be out next week. Feel free to review;)**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you for all the kind reviews, favs, and follows. Thank you for reading:)**

* * *

"Alright son, pick a case," Sherlock says, handing Hamish his phone as he gets into a cab. "Just avoid the gruesome sounding ones; your mother would have a fit."

Sherlock watches intensely as his son scrolls down to all the recent cases. "How about this one?"

"The Case Of The Sharehearst Diamond. Good work son, the case sounds intriguing." Sherlock gives the driver directions to the Sharehearst mansion...

...

"Son?"

"Yes dad?"

"I'm going to my mind palace so you need to be very quiet."

"What's a mind palace?" Hamish asks.

"A mind palace is a place where you store information, you can design it however you want, and visit it whenever you want," Sherlock replies.

"How do you visit it?"

Sherlock gives Hamish the steps to create his own mind palace, and teaches him how to use it properly...

...

"Father, what if I can't solve this case? What if I'm not a good detective?"

"You are my son, we share the same DNA. You will do fine today, don't worry." Sherlock grasps his son's hand reassuringly...

20 minutes later...

"We've arrived Mr. Holmes!"

* * *

Sherlock and Hamish walk into the Sharehearst mansion. It's white marble floors and it's exotic array of gemstones; displayed in the many glass cases in front of them, gave insight to just how rich the Sharehearst family is.

A man wearing a navy blue suit, walks over to the two."Thank heavens you're here Mr. Holmes, my wife would have a field-day if she found out the diamond went missing."

"You work indoors, your an airplane pilot, you've been married for ten years, and you just had lunch," Hamish says.

"Who's this?" The man in the suit asks.

"Allow me to present my son, Hamish W. Holmes. England's newest consulting detective," Sherlock says proudly, while placing his hand on his son's shoulder.

Mr. Sharehearst turns toward Hamish. "How do you know?"

"I don't know, I notice," Hamish replies.

"The state of your shoes, suggests that you work in a clean environment, most likely indoors, going by the lack of scuff marks on the sides. Your left thumb has an imprint of a switch. All airplanes have the control board on the left side of the plane. Since you've recently flown, the imprint hasn't quite disappeared yet. Many couples tend to celebrate their anniversaries with special rings, these types of rings are often embellished with diamonds. The modern tradition, says that diamond jewelry should be given on the tenth anniversary, but the paintings on your wall, indicate that you prefer old fashioned methods, suggesting tin or aluminium. Which going by the scratches on the outside of your ring, it's most likely made out of tin. Aluminium is a more enduring metal, so it would take a longer period of time to scuff."

"I suspect you wanted to coerce your wife into thinking it was silver, seeing that you recently have had rare sapphires built into its head. This is either because of an allergic reaction, or a distaste for anything silver. Seeing that practically every object in your home is made out of gold or some other metal." Hamish finishes, and triumphantly turns toward Mr. Sharehearst.

"Not even my doctor knows about that? And the eating bit, how did you come to that conclusion?" Mr. Sharehearst asks.

"That part was easy, you have a few crumbs from a wafer on your suit," Hamish says giggling slightly.

"You have a brilliant boy there Mr Holmes, England is sure in for a surprise." He turns to the boy. "Just don't tell my wife they're made of tin."

Mr. Sharehearst offers to show them the vaults.

...

It was obvious that he spared no expense on state of the art security. Practically every hallway they passed through, needed a laser reading of his fingerprint. The thief must have been extremely experienced to break into such an impregnable fortress. The vast number of soldiers guarding the doors, on top of the technical security, would make one think it would be impossible.

 _Once you've eliminated the impossible, whatever remains however improbable, must be true._ Sherlock looks over at his son. _"_ Hamish, we need to eliminate the impossible, look around for clues, we need to narrow down the means of entrances."

Mr. Sharehearst pauses, at the end of a small corridor. He places his thumb on another infrared scanner, and their soon granted access by a rewarding green light. "My wife and I have spent many years fortifying this place. Never in our wildest dreams did we think that our security would be compromised."

The room is surprisingly large, seeing that it was meant to hold one item. But the rest of the lights soon turn on, illuminating the rest of the artefacts.

Sherlock and Hamish walk up to the empty display case in front of them. "I assume this glass is bullet proof Sherlock says, scanning his magnifier along the sides of the casing."

"Yes Mr. Holmes. We also have an alarm system that goes off when the display is being tampered with."

"You mean this alarm," Sherlock says, holding up a broken wire.

Sherlock turns to Hamish. "Son, we have enough evidence to solve this case. Who do you think stole the diamond?"

"Well, the only entrance and exit is through that door, but a portion of the ceiling looks like it was recently cut, suggesting someone flexible could have roped down past the lasers, disabled the alarm, and my theory, is that since the case appears to be untampered with, they probably drilled a small pocket in the bottom of the case to slip out the diamond. Then they escaped back through the hole in the ceiling, and patched it up to make it look like nothing happened."

"Conclusion?" Sherlock asks.

"We're looking for someone flexible, who can climb, and has a history with the Sharehearst family. Plus a certain reason to only steal the diamond, and not the artefacts in the room."

"Because?"

"Any ordinary thief would have leaped at the chance to steal the diamond and the artefacts, and wouldn't think twice about patching up a simple hole in a roof. They would be focused on making their escape."

"Our thief, is most likely someone who Mr. Sharehearst recently had contact with. We need to ask him where he was the day before the diamond was stolen."

"Very good Hamish, excellent analysis!"

Sherlock bends down underneath the casing, and sure enough, there was a large hole in the bottom, just large enough for the diamond to slip through.

...

"Mr. Sharehearst, where were you the day before the diamond was stolen?"

"Well, I was walking around town, looking for a place to have lunch, when I caught sight of something shining in a nearby window. Naturally I wanted to see what it was. The most beautiful diamond I have ever seen, golden like the sun, was lying in an open blue case. I thought it would be a perfect gift for my wife, she always loves anything gold. When I walked into the shop, I bought it for two-million Yen. I was just about to leave, when a Chinese woman ran in and immediately started arguing with the clerk. She said something about a priceless artifact being stolen from her. I asked her what had been taken from her, and she gave the exact description of the gold diamond in the window."

"When the clerk told her about selling it to me, she offered to pay me triple in return for the diamond. I told her it was not about the money, and that I didn't believe that it was stolen from her. She got angry and warned me that I would regret not taking her offer."

"Then I left the shop, and took a cab back to my home."

"Did she do or say anything else?" Hamish asks.

"Probably nothing of importance, but now that you mention it, when I made my way out of the shop, I looked back to see the Chinese woman grasping a piece of black paper in her hand. I could be wrong, but it looked like a flower."

...

"Son, you have everything you need to solve this case. Who is our thief?"

"The Tong."

"Explain," Sherlock asks.

"The piece of paper in the Chinese woman's hand was in the shape of a flower, but not just any flower, a lotus, a black lotus."

"A member of the Black Lotus repossessed the diamond from you Mr. Sharehearst," Hamish says.

Sherlock fishes his phone out of his pocket, and hands it over to his son. "Lestrade, the Sharehearst case has been solved. It wasn't stolen, it was repossessed by the owner."

"Congratulations on solving the case Hamish. Who repossessed it?" Lestrade asks.

"A member of the Black Lotus," Hamish answers proudly.

"Well, that's one off of our case load, good work Hamish!"

"Goodby Lestrade."

Hamish hangs up, and hands the phone back to Sherlock.

...

"Thank you for your help," Mr. Sharehearst says, shaking their hands...

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to find an identical diamond before my wife gets home." Mr. Sharehearst puts on his coat and heads out the door.

"We wish you luck with your endeavour," Sherlock says.

"Let's go home son."

* * *

The two of them arrive home, and walk inside.

"Molly you should have seen our son today, he solved another case," Sherlock announces proudly from the living room.

The detective makes his way into the kitchen. His joyful features, were betrayed, as he laid eyes on the pathologist sitting on the kitchen counter.

A look of fear and grief was painted across her features. "Molly what's wrong?"

"I got a call from a friend at the morgue. She said that she saw Moriarty today," Molly says in a distraught tone.

A noticeable shiver, could be seen in his eyes, as Molly looked into them.

"Son, go up to your room, your mother and I need to be alone."

Hamish obeys his father, and makes his way upstairs to his bedroom.

...

Sherlock's brow knits, and a tone of concern breaks through his voice. "What did he do?"

"Nothing. He just withdrew some cash, from the bank and left."

The detective clasps his hands in his normal thinking position, and paces around the kitchen.

"Sherlock, why is Moriarty here?" Molly asks in a fearful tone.

 _"I don't know. But if Moriarty's involved; nothing good can come of it ."_

* * *

 **A/N: Chapter 3, will be out either next week, or the week after that, but no later. I'm currently writing a book, so I'm going to be updating a tad less frequent. *I'll ask Mycroft to give you a slice of his cake if you're patient* :) As always, feel free to review;)**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thank you everyone! for reviewing, favoriting, and following this story. You guys are great! Enjoy!**

* * *

A cold, dark atmosphere, creeps through the house, intensifying the unholy sounds enclosing around him.

 _Why is he back? can't he see that I have a family now? I can't afford to play this twisted game any longer with him- Moriarty._ Sherlock snaps awake, plagued by a sick fantasy too gruesome to even describe.

"Honey are you ok?" Molly gently rubs his back. His cold and clammy skin, gives her a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Her voice lowers to a concerned whisper. "Sherlock, why are you so cold?"

She gingerly lifts her hand up onto his forehead, to check for a fever. Leaving the detective, to wrestle with his own thoughts once again. _Were the last 24 hour's just an illusion, brought on by 'feelings?'_ Sherlock stuttered, as that one word crossed his mind. Of course it didn't bother him as much as it used to; now that he had a family. But it still nagged at him. Deep down, he felt if he gave in too much to his 'feelings' somehow they would be crushed. Moriarty would finally be able uncover the layers to what he's been trying to hide all his life.

His thoughts are blurred out as he senses his wife's touch. He looks deep into her eyes, as a warm feeling comes over him. This was his life, to solve crimes, to be with the woman, and the family that he loves, and to deal with the occasional psychopath, that tries to ruin it all.

 _Over all, it isn't too boring of a life._ The detective thinks to himself.

"I'm fine, lets just get some sleep." Sherlock gives Molly a weak smile, and the two of them drift off, intertwined in each-others arms.

...

"Mummy, I don't want to go to school," Hamish says, sliding his bottom lip into a pout, and collapsing into a ball on the floor.

"Honey, why don't you want to go?" Molly asks.

"Because, I don't need to go. I'm smarter than all the teachers, everyone of my classmates are idiots, and every time I say something smart, I get bullied for it. Please, don't make me go back," Hamish pleads.

"Hamish, what have I told you about calling people idiots? Just because your father does it, doesn't mean it's right to do. People can be stupid about some things, but they can be smart about other things. Just because you're smarter than your classmates, doesn't mean they're stupid.

Now, your father has a case. So I will stop by your school, on our way to work. Ok?"

Hamish joyfully embraces his mother and father...

"Why don't you two talk? while I make breakfast."

Molly leans in, and whispers in Sherlock's ear. "Don't take too long?" The pathologist kisses him gently on the lips, before leaving the room.

After Molly leaves, Sherlock slips on his robe, and tidies the bed, before gesturing to his son to sit down next to him.

"Now, what's this I hear about you not wanting to go to school?" The detective asks.

"The teachers never teach me anything, and they accuse me of cheating, when I get nearly perfect scores on tests, saying that I'm using my mind palace to cheat. And I'm constantly bullied."

Hamish soon finishes telling his father all the details...

"Son?" His voice grows softer. "Your uncle and I, had the same problems with school when we were your age. Living in a world of goldfish isn't easy. Now, we better head downstairs, your mother won't be pleased if we let the food get cold."

...

After breakfast, Molly and Sherlock get dressed, and drive their son to school...

* * *

After she drops her son off at school, Molly walks in the principals office... "Hamish is a brilliant boy, the smartest in this school. He has nearly perfect scores in all his classes. But my worry, and don't take this the wrong way, is that he's cheating. Every teacher, says that he keeps talking about going inside his mind palace, to find the answers. Everyone seems to think it's a cheating device."

"Do you know what it is?" The principal asks.

Molly can't help but giggle slightly, at the thought of the teachers thinking he's using a cheating device.

"Yes, we know exactly what it is, and it's not a cheating device. A mind palace is a memory technique, sort of a mental map. You plot a map with a location, it doesn't have to be a real place, then you deposit memories there... Theoretically you can never forget anything; you just have to find your way back to it. This location can be anything from a house to a street. But my son, built his into a palace." Molly finishes, and turns toward the principal.

"That is very interesting! I've never heard of a mind palace before," the principal says.

"One more thing before we go. Hamish has been complaining about being bullied. Is there anything you can do to help?" Molly asks.

"Well, being the best student in the school, some people are naturally going to be jealous of your son. However, I do tell all the students to report any disorderly behaviour to me, and I try my very best to get to the root of the problem. But unfortunately, few students actually do."

"You have my full guarantee, that if your son reports to me, I will do my very best to help in any way I can, Ms-"

"Holmes... Molly Holmes," she says, shaking her hand.

"As in Sherlock Holmes?"

"Yes, he's my Husband," Molly replies.

"It's so great to finally meet you! your husband has been such an inspiration to this school." The principal proudly shakes her hand.

"I know you two have a schedule to keep, but many students write a number of papers on him, and they're really enjoying reading your husbands blog, it's given them a new spark for science. Please, pass on our appreciation to your husband" the principal asks.

"Of course, I'll be glad to." Molly warmly smiles, and glances up at the clock on the wall.

"Oh, no! I'm nearly late for work, I have to be on time if I'm going to get that promotion." Thank you Ms. Files for your time," Molly says in a rushed tone.

The pathologist quickly leaves the principals office, and runs towards the waiting cab in front of the building. "Driver! to Bart's please, and step on it!"

...

Sherlock and John follow Lestrade up the stairs, into an old attic...

"The victims name is Herbert Greyson. His wife Linda, said that one moment he was sipping his tea, the next moment he was acting violently crazy, and threatened to throw the kettle at her. After which, she said he started to rave like a madman before jumping through the window."

"Did you ask her if he had a violent history?" John asks.

"She said two years ago that they had a fight. When she found two small needle marks on his arm, she got angry, and accused him of doing drugs. He denied it, and they got into a fight and he pushed her into the bathtub. Thankfully she only suffered minor bruising. She said that his violent behaviour only worsened over time, so she had to divorce him."

"If you're suspecting drugs, you're wrong, all the test came up negative." Lestrade says, in a boastful way.

"A man goes from drinking his tea, to threatening his wife, and raves like a madman before jumping out a window to his death. The needle marks on his arm are obviously from a syringe, but all the drug test come up negative. "Oo, this is getting rather fun." Sherlock clasps his hands into his thinking position. "Are there any more witnesses other than the ex wife?"

"No. She said it was early in the day, and all her neighbors had late shifts."

"All right, where's the tea cup?" Sherlock asks.

"In evidence. Why do you ask?"

"This is just a hunch inspector, but I need your team to run a series of test to determine how long the tea has been stagnating in the cup. If we know that, we can determine how long the body's been here. There's a possibility that the drugs he may or may not have taken, have already been flushed from his system. I need that analysis if I'm going to certain."

 _"That's brilliant!"_

"Not now John," Sherlock says dryly. "The ex wife is still a suspect, the case isn't solved just yet."

"Um, right, where precisely was he standing, when he was threatening her?" John asks.

"What, how is that relevant?" Lestrade asks.

"Of course John, excellent insight!" Sherlock says proudly.

"If we find out the exact location where he was standing. The case will be solved. Get a hold of the ex wife, and text me when you have the details..."

The two of them walk out of the house, leaving the rest of the police force puzzled, and slide into the cab parked by the curb. "Where to sir?"

"Baker Street," Sherlock replies.

...

Hamish is walking home, when he sees a car to his left, following closely beside. Acting on instinct, he quickens his pace into a run, but it does little to help. Two men in black suits suddenly jump out of the moving vehicle. Hamish tries to outrun them, but he's soon tackled, and a chloroformed drenched cloth, is placed over his mouth...

The last thing he remembers before blacking out, are the rough hands of his captors around his body, transporting him into the car.

* * *

"Riiiiisssseeee and sssshhhhhiiiinnnnneeee!"

Hamish begins to wonder, if he's been kidnapped by a three-year old.

As the unnaturally high-pitched voice gets closer, someone quickly rips off his blindfold, startling him. Hamish grips the sides of the furnished chair he's tied to, and blinks his eyes a few times, adjusting to the brightness of the room, that is stinging his eyes.

A strange figure standing in front of him, begins to come into focus. Hamish slowly shifts his eyes from his dark leather shoes, slowly scanning his grey suit, and finally rests on the soul-less eyes of the deranged figure, smiling psychotically in front of his face.

A strange shutter, courses through his veins. _Do I know this man?_ _How come I feel such a loathing inside for a stranger I've never even met. Just looking into his eyes, I can feel I'm in the presence of someone sinister and evil. What is this man's name?_

"Jim Moriarty. Hi." He finishes the last word in a sing-song voice, and begins to walk circles around the boy.

"This truly is special, it's not everyday that you get a visit from the famous, Hamish W. Holmes. I hope you've had a comfortable stay?" Moriarty taunts.

 _This man is a delusional psychopath! he knows that I'm tied to a chair, and yet he has the gall to ask me if I've been comfortable. What does this maniac want with me?_

"Well go on, speak up, it's rude to ignore people." Moriarty says.

"You're crazy! of course I'm not comfortable, seeing that I'm tied to this infernal chair. Listening to you blabber on about rubbish, is giving me a headache."

"Very good!" Moriarty claps. "If you said that with just a hint more of utter disgust, you would sound exactly like your father."

"How do you know my father?" Hamish huffs.

"We're the very best of friends, I'm disappointed he didn't tell you about me. We do everything together. Play dress up, cops and robbers, simon says, but he doesn't follow the rules. A little pictionary, which your father is surprisingly slow at. Oh, and my personal favorite, ring around the rosy."

Moriarty looks into the distance. " _Ashes ashes, we both fall down."_

"I don't believe you, you're not his best friend, he already has a best friend. He's an army doctor from Afghanistan," Hamish retorts.

In a split second, Moriarty's playful expression changes. "You're not getting my point!"

Moriarty blasts in his face, causing Hamish to fearfully shove backward into his seat. As the ropes around his ankles to burn his skin, he remembers the wise words of his uncle. _A soldier is strong, and brave; he doesn't show fear in the face of the enemy, and he fights with all his heart to survive._

* * *

 ** _H_ _eeeey guys! *says in a high-pitched voice*_** ** _I hope you enjoyed this chapter, drop me a line or two, in the reviews. I would love to hear what you think about this chapter:) speaking of chapters, chapter 4 will be out next week._** ** _Feel free to review;)_**

 ** _What did you guys think of Moriarty?_**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I originally was going to update sooner, but I wanted to spend more time on this chapter. This is the axis to where the story rotates around, so it needs to be precise. Thank you everyone for adding this to your reading list, reviewing, and favoriting :DEnjoy!**

* * *

There's a loud crunch of the tires, as a cab pulls up to the curb in front of 221.B. Sherlock is leaning up against the window; resting his head on the top-face of his hand, lost in thought.

"Sherlock? were here."

"Sherlock?"

The detective snaps out of his dazed state, and turns toward the army doctor with a look of anguish racking his features.

"What's wrong?" John asks.

"I don't know, I just got this horrible sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. John, something is terribly wrong."

"Sherlock, I told you not to skip lunch today... Come on, I'm sure the fish shop on the corner is still open, we can order something to go." John gets out of the cab, and turns around toward the sulking detective.

"John, it's not my stomach. I can't explain it, but I know something isn't right. Something is out of place."

"But you just received a text from Molly; that she was picking up Hamish from school. I'm right here, safe and sound, Lestrade is back at the station, and Mrs. Hudson is-"

The two of them yell the landlady's name, while running chaotically into the flat. They desperately search through every room in the flat, hoping to catch a glimpse of the landlady.

"There's no sign of her! where is she?" Sherlock shouts.

"Uh, Sherlock?" John picks up a piece of paper; with familiar handwriting scribbled on it. The detective leans in and reads the message out loud: "Don't worry about me, I've gone to my cousin's house to cater for her wedding. I'll be back soon."

Sherlock hears the blip of a text, and retrieves his phone, from his jacket pocket: _Sherlock we have the evidence you suggested, come at once- DI_

"To think we spent all that time searching, when this was in front of our noses this whole time." John shakes his head at the note, before placing it back onto the table.

"John, that doesn't matter now, we need to get to the Bradbury residence at once. Some new evidence has just turned up."

The two of them walk out of the flat, and drive off in the cab towards the Bradbury residence.

* * *

Sherlock and John make their way up the stairs, passing the irritated faces of Anderson and Donavan. "What's the analysis?" Sherlock asks.

 _Help Linda! they're trying to kill me!_

"What's this?" John asks.

"Drug induced hallucinations," Sherlock remarks bluntly.

"This message was sent in a few hours ago by a passing pedestrian, who was outside at the time of the incident. We've already ruled out the ex wife as a suspect. Now all that's left is to find the drugs," Lestrade states.

"What's the analysis on the tea?" Sherlock asks.

"It turns out you were right. The lab reports confirmed that there had been small traces of three-day old tea, stagnating inside it. Including even smaller traces of the drug left on the inside of the handle. Unfortunately too small to make a valid identification."

Lestrade hands Sherlock a vacuum sealed fragment from the broken cup.

"By my calculation, he owned this cup precisely four days. Which would give it time to stagnate over a three day period; before he died." Sherlock finishes his thought process, and without warning, he jumps excitedly into the air.

"Excellent! Going by his weight, the amount of substance that he inserted, and the time In-between injections, any trace of the drug has been flushed from his system." Sherlock holds up a a small syringe filled halfway with liquid, and hands it over to Lestrade.

"Where did you find this?" Lestrade inquires.

"Yesterday, in one of the side drawers in the kitchen. It had the least amount of dust covering it, meaning it was either dusted, or opened regularly. But going by the state of this room, the second option is far more likely. Now, where precisely was he standing?"

Lestrade walks to a section between the kitchen and the sitting room. "Here"

Sherlock goes over to the designated area and tentatively folds over a section of the handwoven rug. A decent amount of space is quickly cleared, uncovering a small hole in a piece of the flooring.

The air is filled with an insurmountable tension, as the detectives fingers grasp the inner edge of the board, lifting it out of place with a noticeable creak, exposing a collection of plastic bags filled with white powder.

"What's that smell?" John asks.

"Most likely Cannabis, it has a distinct pungent odor. He's kept it under the floorboard, in powdered form. Which means..."

Without warning, Sherlock dashes from his docile state, down the stairs to the kitchen.

The police chief, John, and a few officers all run down the stairs after him...

The detective rummages through a few cabinets, before pulling out a used tea kettle, and places it on the counter in front of them. Before the DI can say anything, Sherlock sticks his face inside the kettle, and emits a series of sniffing noises. All amplified loudly to the rest of the police team who were staring with confused looks.

"It's been a few months since he's done the process, but the kettle is still laced with the odor."

"I'm sorry... done what process?"

"Liquefaction. This kettle is where he soaked the powder to make it soluble enough to inject it."

A loud beeping sound breaks through the temporary silence.

"Lestrade, I have an important matter to attend to. You'll find a large, airtight jar underneath the sink that's also laced with the substance, and a hidden stash under his mattress."

"Nice work on the case," Lestrade shouts, before his voice is drowned out by the splash of a cab as it makes contact with the wet pavement.

"Alright, why did you leave in such a hurry? you usually stick around for the praise before bolting off somewhere... Is it bad news?" The army doctor stares intensely at his flatmate.

"Possibly. Look, I have no time to explain John, I need to get home as quickly as possible."

The serious, deep baritone of his flatmates voice, beckoned for John to get into the cab. Whatever had got Sherlock in this worked up state, most definitely wasn't a good thing.

...

Sherlock takes no time to pay the driver, as he scuttles hastily toward the front door, leaving John behind in his wake.

* * *

A worried pathologist, was nervously pacing up and down their kitchen floor, tightly clutching her cell-phone in one hand, and drying her eyes with the other. Without a moments thought, the detective runs to her side and they lovingly embrace one another...

"Hamish is nowhere to be found, I called the school, but they said he left for home hour's ago. I called all my friends, but still nothing...not a single reply. Sherlock, what if he's been kidnapped?"

Sherlock gently wipes a stray tear from Molly's cheek, and comfortingly places his lips against hers, in a sensual kiss...

In the midst of their passion, they are suddenly alerted to a loud banging against the back-door. The two of them pull apart and look out the window to investigate. A burly young man, wearing a dark suit and sun-glasses, was standing by the door. _This man most likely works as an informant, seeing that he kept his identity secret. He's apparently unarmed, and could possibly possess information on Hamishes whereabouts._

Sherlock finishes his quick deduction, and waits for the stranger to speak.

"I'm unarmed. Please, it's urgent that you let me in! I know where your son is!"

"That was a reputable shot in the light," Sherlock mutters to himself.

Seeing that the man held no apparent threat to them, the detective makes his way to the front door, and bids the stranger entrance...

"My boss Moriarty has your son. He's being held in an abandoned faculty warehouse in Cartagena. A Spanish city off the coast of Spain. When I heard what he was planning, I had to tell you."

Molly shivers at the thought of her son in the hands of that psychopath. She tries hard to steady her breathing, and deal with the grief in her own accord without bursting into tears in front of a strange man.

Sherlock takes notice of her behaviour, and comfortingly takes her shivering hand in his, relying on her as well, to keep him in a somewhat calm state."

"What is he planning?" Sherlock and Molly ask in unison, and listen intently for an answer.

"I don't know the precise details, I only overheard him say Sherlock Holmes will burn. Mr. Holmes, This favor has made me a hunted man, my debt is repaid to you; so you're on your own from this moment forward."

"We understand. You've done us a great service by coming here. It couldn't have been easy to betray your boss, all for a debt." Molly shakes his hand.

"Actually, I'm quite relieved I'm not working there anymore, his dental plan sucked. Goodbye Mr. Holmes."

Sherlock shows the stranger out the door, and wastes no time fishing his phone out of his pocket to call the only man in England who could help with the travesty.

"Hamish has been kidnapped," Sherlock blurts.

"Where has he been taken?"

"Cartagena. A Spanish city, off the coast of Spain. We've been informed by a reliable source that he's being held in an abandoned faculty warehouse by Moriarty."

"This is a very delicate situation, and must be treated as such. The informant who brought you this information, is going to be missed soon. I've just arranged for a private jet to be sent to Heathrow Airport. It is imperative that you leave as soon as possible. I will stay here and monitor for any suspicious activity," Mycroft finishes.

"Of what nature?" Sherlock interludes."

"Sherlock you're not thinking covertly. They will eventually have to feed him, and I will be monitoring every supermarket, store, and roadside shop in Spain. If there are there, I will be the first to know about it."

"I gather you'll be taking John with you? The span of time you'll be gone, is indefinite. You wouldn't want to leave him again would you?"

"John?" Sherlock hangs up, and returns the phone back into his coat pocket. He sprints hastily to the front door and calls for the army doctor who was waiting patiently outside...

...

After having explained the situation to his flat mate, he walks over to their bookshelf, and tears a page out of the atlas. "We have an area 215.48 square miles to comb. Here is a list of dwellings within that range."

Sherlock hands the page over to John.

"The army doctor knits his brow, as he scans the document. "This is a very wide range to search. It will be like looking for a needle in a haystack."

"Yes, but the haystack is being monitored, and the needle is a lot bigger than your average sowing tool." Sherlock gives John the most confident smirk that he can muster, and strides upstairs to help Molly with the luggage.

...

The trio quickly packs the cab, and departs to Heathrow Airport.

* * *

 **A/N: I hope Hamish is ok? Chapter 5 will be out sometime next week. Chapters will gradually get longer. Feel free to review;)**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Sorry this chapter is so late. Thank you for favoriting following and reviewing:) I especially want to thank wicked games1 and** **BelieverofManyThings** **for the amazing, and sweet reviews you've given me! Enjoy!**

* * *

"Sherlock, do you think he's alright?" Molly asks in a worried tone.

"Hamish is smart. I fear what Moriarty will do with that.''

The pathologist jolts up in her seat. "You mean he's going to hurt him?"

Sherlock sees John scowling at him from the front seat. "What Sherlock meant, is that he's fine."

"Thank you John," Molly says warmly, as she nestles deeper into Sherlocks chest.

"Sherlock, we should have never let him go to school today. He would still be here." Molly blinks her eyes rapidly to keep them from welling up.

"Molly, even if we let him off for the whole week, Moriarty would find some way to kidnap him when we weren't looking. We couldn't have kept an eye on him every second."

"I know, but I miss him." Molly replies.

"I miss him also," Sherlock replies.

* * *

"What purpose could you possibly have for kidnaping me? I demand to be let go."

Moriarty steps back from the boy, with a scowl on his face, and walks around the room with his hands in his pockets. "You're not a very polite guest are you? You'll have to be taught some lessons in-"

Moriarty sighs, and fishes his phone out of his pants pocket.

"Yes, what is it?... You tell him, that if he breathes a single word about this, I will have him put in a place that will make the Carandiru look like a day care center."

"What do you mean he's already left... _FIND HIM!"_

The loud shouts; cause a symphony of echoes to bounce off the metal walls of the dismal warehouse, causing Hamish to jump slightly in his bonds. Moriarty was familiar with that jump, that sweet, split-second skip, causing their pulse to beat like a humming bird, just moments before it pounds mercilessly out of their chest, and their forehead's reduced to sweating drops of pure terror. _He had his good days after all._

Moriarty hangs up, and places the phone back in his pocket, pacing himself towards the boy.

"It seems we've run into a little problem, Sebby. We have to relocate before his brown-nosing father comes to ruin our little get-together. I don't want him finding the boy before I'm finished with my plan."

"Where do you suggest we relocate boss?"

"Al Quadarif, Sudan. It should buy me enough time to complete my work."

Moriarty turns toward the boy. "Now, are you going to behave? or does Sebby have to inject you with a very nasty and unpleasant chemical."

Hamish shakes his head.

Moriarty looks over at Sebastian with his: _I told you the needle would scare him look_. And bends down to untie the boy from the chair...

"Sebastian, remind me never to put you in charge of tying up the prisoners. Now I have to cut him free, and ruin a perfectly good length of rope." Moriarty curses under his breath as he grabs the pocket knife from Seb, and cuts the bonds around the boy's legs.

Hamish stands up shakily on his weak legs, and walks obediently with his captors, towards the waiting car in front of them.

 _What am I doing, this isn't what my uncle would do. I need to fight back like a soldier._

Hamish makes up his mind, and gives a swift kick to Sebastian's leg, and starts running frantically down the street.

Sebastian lets out a muffled groan, and holds up his gun to aim at the boy, before Moriarty lowers it. "I don't trust your aim, I need the boy alive and not wounded... Run after him!" Moriarty shouts.

Sebastian struggles to run after the boy, but with a bruised femur; his speed is greatly hindered. He soon nears an old barn, and walks inside...

"Where are you Hamish?" Seb grabs a pitch fork off a rusty nail on the wall, and stabs at the nearby hay stacks."You can't hide forever I'll eventually find you!" Sebastian shouts.

Hamish hears the clanging of two horseshoes pounding against each other, and the slow footsteps of his assailant as they echo off the hard pavement. "I know you're in here Hamish, just give yourself up now, and I won't hurt you."

Every bone in Hamish's body was saying to run, but his head was saying to do something entirely different.

 _"If I could only remember what my father said to do?" Hamish contemplates to himself._

"Mind palace, of course," Hamish whispers.

He tries his best to get in a calm, focused and relaxed state. And eventually finds himself in his mind palace, searching through his collection of memories on his mahogany shelves.

...

Hamish sits down across from his father at the table.

"Father, why are you writing a message in German?"

"I'm sending a secret message to one of Moriarty's henchmen, he owes me a favor."

"What if Sebastian or Moriarty sees it?" Hamish asks.

"I've already exercised innate precautions to prevent it. Sebastian is extremely unlearned when it comes to the recognition of foreign languages, he won't be able to make heads or tales of the message. So he will pass it off to Joseph, their leading linguist; who's fluent in over thirty-two languages, and has particular talent in deciphering German messages."

 _That's it! Sebastian is extremely unlearned when it comes to foreign languages. I know how I'm going to escape,_ _Hamish contemplates to himself._

...

After leaving his mind palace, Hamish quickly throws a bunch of dirt and hay on his clothes and slowly comes out from behind a few barrels, and walks toward Sebastian.

"Good Hamish! I see you've decided to cooperate," Sebastian goads.

"My name isn't Hamish, it's Rustavich from Russia. Kто этот дурак?

My family and I moved here from Russia a few years ago and we became legal citizens of Spain. Now, I need to get back to my chores."

Sebastian looks down at Hamishs dirty clothes, and the pile of hay in front of him.

How come your English is so clean?

I've studied your language for many years after I came to this country.

"Where do you live?"

"My house is on top of that hill over there." Hamish replies.

"Alright, I will let you get back to work; after you tell me which direction he ran off?" Sebastian inquires.

"Now that you mention it, I did see a small boy about my size. He looked to be in quite a hurry, running that way." Hamish points to the entrance of the barn, and smirks proudly as he slowly begins to walk toward the exit.

"He's not here. I can't find any trace of him. It's like he vanished. Hey! come back here!"

Hamish quickens his speed to a full running pace and tries desperately to reach the exit.

"Bravo! Felicimo! Encore!" Moriarty claps arrogantly.

"You are your father's son, aren't you Hamish? Or should I say, Rustavich from Russia. Yes, I heard every word of your little acting performance. You've certainly fooled old Sebby over there. Then again foreign languages aren't really his strong point. But you know that don't you? I keep him around to hold my guns."

Sebastian unbuttons his suit, revealing a vast armory of different forms of weapons, and explosives.

Moriarty's tone grows colder. "Now, if you pull another stunt like you just did, I might not be able to stop Sebby from playing with you with his toys."

Hamish shakes his head, and swallows hard to keep the tears from falling.

"It's really been a pleasure Hamish, but every actor must face his final bow at some point."

Hamish feels a sting of pain in his neck; as the world swirls around him, before plummeting into darkness.

* * *

Sherlock you are heading the wrong way, they've moved to Al Quadarif, Sudan. You need to change course.

* * *

Hamish's eyes flutter open. He rubs his hands on the brown velvet blanket, and stairs up at the ceiling. Like a flash, the memories of the last few days hit him like a bolt of lightning, as he stares up at the empty ceiling. This most certainly was not his room.

Hamish gets out of bed and walks out the bedroom door.

The rich song of a cello, is drowned out by the clatter of silverware and expensive crystal. As Hamish draws deeper into the hall, he finds himself surrounded by the smell of fresh rosemary, and roasting meat. Hamish follows the sweet aroma down the long hall, and comes face to face with two gold framed doors. The two days he had gone without eating, were starting to catch up to him. Like his father, he could only go a certain length of time, before his strength gave out.

"Our honored guest is finally awake! You must be famished, please sit down."

Hamish tries to fight his bodily impulse for food, but his strength was diminishing with each passing minute, and his knotted stomach, twisted and writhed crying out for sustenance.

A plate of roasted duck, sprinkled with rosemary sauce, is placed in front of him.

 _Wait! I can't eat their food, these people kidnapped me and tied me to a chair. For all I know it could be laced with poison._ Hamish tries to remain unsatisfied, but the heavenly aroma emitting from the plate in front of him, weakens his will, and he willingly and finally, accepts defeat.

"How is it Hamish?"

Hamish looks up to meet the eyes of Moriarty, only with a sudden, very apparent, difference. They were no longer the black soul-less eyes of his kidnapper. They were the eyes of his father.

His eyes float to a blue trench coat and scarf around his assailants neck, and land on the familiar dark curly locks perfectly proportioned on his head. _This can't be right, this isn't logical, I'm just tired and hungry, what's in front of me is a hallucination brought on by lack of nourishment._

Moriarty smiles fiendishly as the boy continues to peck at his plate. But this time with an assuming haste to consume bigger portions.

* * *

"I remember the first day we brought Hamish home from the hospital. Such strong features, just like his father, but still vulnerable and innocent at the same time. The moment I first layed eyes on him, I vowed that I would always protect him...Why did he take Hamish? why couldn't he have kidnapped one of us, and let our son go free? Molly asks.

"Ever since I can remember, Moriartys schemes have been this elaborate game of tag. He commits a crime and I try to stop him. Remember when I left for two years to disable his network? That was my turn. Now he's taken his turn, along with our son, he knew exactly what he was doing when he kidnapped him. And knows from experience that if I so much as find a scratch on our son, I will spend my life hunting him down, and no place on earth will be safe for him."

"Molly? I too made a vow. And I will not rest until that vow is fulfilled, and Hamish is safely returned to us." Sherlock leans over to Molly and gives her a strong passionate kiss before she pulls away.

"I know you will." The pathologist wipes a few stray tears from her eyes, and perks up as best she can. "There must be something we can use to communicate with him, something that Moriarty can't find out about, or confiscate."

Sherlock suddenly jumps into the air. "Molly you're brilliant! there is a way to reach him, I've only ever been successful once."

"John!"

The army doctor comes running into their cabin. "Yes Sherlock."

"Do you remember A Study In pink?"

"Do You mean the title of the case or the events? John asks."

"The events that transpired. Remember when I held that translucent bottle filled with a single pill. Think back to the moment before you shot the cabbie. What were you thinking exactly?"

"That you were in danger," John replies.

"Yes. I planted that thought in your head. In that moment I connected to your mind and focused on one single idea: Sherlock is in danger!"

"Hang on! you're telling me that the only reason I rescued you, was because you sent me a thought?"

"No. It doesn't work that way. You have to be feeling very strongly about one single thought for me to have any effect with the technique. You made it possible for me to reach you John. And I want you to know that I am deeply grateful and indebted to you."

"Somebody has to save you from your bloody stupidity!" John smirks.

Sherlock smiles at the army doctor, and sits back down next to Molly. "Hamish has a mind palace, if I connect to his conscious thoughts, we will be able to communicate and share information."

"Now, no one disturb me. Sherlock walks out of the cabin and makes himself comfortable on a fold-away bed."

...

Hamish finishes his last bite and rises from the table. "I need to be alone."

"Very well," Moriarty replies.

After hamish leaves, Sebastian gives Moriarty an irritated look. "You're just going to let him leave? what if he tries to escape again?"

"Relax Sebby, dear," Moriartys says in a calm tone. "I have guards scowering every inch of this place, and all the exits are sealed shut. He's not going to escape. He probably needs some time alone to think straight, after what he's seen."

"Besides, when I get through with him, he won't be able to tell black from white."

* * *

 **A/N: Interesting twist right? The translation for the Russian text: Who is this fool? Thank you for reading this chapter, and sorry again for the late arrival:) I have to finish learning a computer language for my future career, so chapter 6 will be a bit late. I will try to update sometime this week, but I can't promise. Anyway, I would love to know which parts are your favorite! Feel free to review;)**


	6. Chapter 6

**Apologies. Something came up, and I was detained from my writing for a number of days. Thank you all for your amazing patience, reviews, favorites, and follows;) And thank you:** _ **BelieverofManyThings (your review made my day)**_ **Enjoy!**

* * *

Hamish walks the way back to his room, and shuts the door behind him...

He walks through the garden, past a row of rose bushes, and places himself down on the base of a marble fountain. Admiring the many intricate statues, and intricate designs, Hamish places his hand into the water, and a few friendly fish nudge it, and swim through his fingers.

"Hamish?"

"Daddy you're here!" Hamish runs over and embraces his father. "I've missed you so much, I didn't think I would ever see you again."

"I've missed you too, very much Hamish!" Sherlock replies. Grasping tighter around the boy; as if in any moment, they would be torn apart from each-other.

Sherlock wipes a tear from his son's cheek, and they pull away from the embrace.

"Is mummy here?"

"No Hamish; just me," Sherlock replies.

"When you go back; can you give her a message for me?" Hamish asks.

"Tell her that I love her and miss her very much, and that 'm safe."

"I will tell her." Sherlock looks around and admires the scenery. "Hmm, a rose garden, a marble laid fountain, this is magnificent work Hamish!"

Hamish tries to give his father a humble look, but the gratification from him; forces out a small smile.

Sherlock catches this, and turns around to meet his son face-to-face. "There's no need to hide your enthusiasm son, what you have built has greatly exceeded my expectations of you. You have made me very proud Hamish."

Sherlock's tone changes to one of a concerned parent. "Hamish, I know that you're safe for the time being, but has he hurt you? Or harmed you in any way?"

"Yes."

Sherlock's eyes narrow; as he listens to his son's words.

"When I tried to escape his henchman, Sebastian roughly injected me with something that he called a very nasty and unpleasant chemical." Hamish sits down on the fountain, and puts his hand on the sore area, indicating to his father where the injury is.

The detective sits down next to his son; and gently examines him.

After a few moments, Sherlock collapses his head into his hands. "That monster!"

"What's wrong?"

"My poor boy, the reason your neck is causing you pain, is because it's infected. His careless henchman didn't even bother to sterilize the needle. He's making you suffer to cause me pain. Do you know what he's planning?"

"No. But Moriarty has done something different to-"

 _"Hello?"_

"Son, you must focus your attention inside, tell me more," Sherlock begs.

"His-"

* * *

Hamish's concentration is broken, and he's violently pulled out of his mind palace. His eyes flutter open, and move to the dark wooden door in front of him.

"Hamish, didn't you hear me calling? what have you been up to?" Moriarty comes in, and sits down next to Hamish on the bed.

"Nothing," Hamish replies, turning towards the wall.

"Turn towards me...Your neck," Moriarty huffs.

Hamish feels a twinge of fear, as Moriarty's slim fingers grasp his neck.

 _It would be just too easy to_ asphyxiate _him right here. No witnesses and a solitary room. But I can't, his father is sadly not present at this time, and I want him to see and experience everything I'm going to do to his precious son. I want him broken, Moriarty contemplates to himself.._

"Sebby Sebby Sebby... Come with me."

Moriarty leads Hamish by the hand down the hall into the bathroom. "This isn't going to feel very pleasant," Moriarty warns, holding a tissue dowsed in alcohol above the boy's neck.

"I don't care," Hamish retorts.

"Such bravery," Moriarty says in a mocking tone. Without warning, he places the cloth over the boys wound and presses hard.

Hamish fiercely grips the edge of the counter, and clenches his teeth to keep from screaming. Hot tears sting his eyes, threatening to spill over. But he keeps them at bay, to avoid giving Moriarty the satisfaction of seeing him in pain.

Hamish tries to dull the pain the way his father taught him, by separating his consciousness from his body.

"Impressive. A wound like that would have made any normal person cry out in screams of agony." Moriarty puts the bottle of alcohol back into the cabinet, and leads Hamish back to his room.

"We have a few hours to kill until supper, how about a game of chess?"

Hamish turns around, and scowls at Moriarty. "A game of chess. You kidnap me, tie me to a chair, chase me through a barn, knock me out; and now you want to play a game of chess."

"I thought since I helped you, that you would want to play a game with me. But I suppose you still hate me. Even after I went out of my way to help you; by cleaning your wound." Moriarty pouts as he heads toward the door. "You haven't had any mental stimulation for days, so I thought... Never mind, I'll just be going."

"Wait. Maybe we can play one game. You did help me after all, so I should return the favor."

"Wonderful!" Moriarty sets up a table with a chessboard and two chairs on opposite sides.

* * *

Sherlock walks into the adjoining cabin, with a heavy heart and mind, knowing only a few mere scraps of information as to how their son is being treated. The detective tries to prepare some as-semblance of a smile, but the harsh news that he received from Hamish, was still weighing him down like a weight on his chest, immobilizing his body and breath so he can't utter a single word.

"How did it go?" Molly asks.

"What's wrong?" John asks.

Sherlock gives the army doctor a look; that only after so many years of friendship he can even think of showing. John catches his quoe and walks into a darkened and partially secluded area of the plane.

"Alright, what's happened?" John asks.

"I saw Hamish again. Moriarty hasn't been keeping his promise to me?"

"Jesus!" John whispers. What has he done to him?"

"When I asked him, he told me that Sebastian injected something painful into his system; to make him pass out. He was complaining of neck pain, so I examined the area. John, the right side of his neck; was completely infected surrounding the puncture wound. I told him to disinfect the area as soon as possible."

"The bloody idiot forgot to sterilize the needle. Do you know what he injected?" John inquires.

"The coloration around the puncture, was something I've never seen or heard of. Most likely, they've invented a new drug to subdue their victims at a much faster rate of that of a normal drug."

John clears his throat.

"Did he give you any information on Moriarty's plans?"

"He started to, but the outside noise ruined his concentration. His exact words were 'No. But Moriarty has done something different to his-"

"There would have been more time if I had not spent precious seconds discussing the scenery. I failed him John. My mind became entangled by useless thoughts, and by the time I broke free, it was too late." Sherlock closes his eyes, and shamefully lowers his head.

"Sherlock, you love your son. Those so called useless thoughts that you mentioned, were you trying to express that love. You haven't in the slightest way failed him. Yes, their was more to the message; but another mishap could have occurred at any time. So you can't, and shouldn't blame yourself... Look out the window."

"Why?"

"Just do it."

Sherlock leans a few degrees to his left and stares out the window. "What am I supposed to be looking at John? there's just fog, the left wing of the plane and the dim flicker of lights below; barely bright enough to make out."

"Exactly, because you're on a plane, traveling to Sudan to rescue your son. That's definitely not a failure in my book."

The detective smiles, and strongly embraces the army doctor. "You are my truest friend John."

The detective sits down next to his wife, and looks over at John sitting across from them, and back over to Molly. "I saw Hamish."

"Then it worked? Did you get to speak to him?" Molly asks.

"Yes. He told me to tell you that he loves you, misses you very much, and not to worry about him; because he's safe."

"Safe? how can he be safe with that monster of a man; keeping him prisoner?"

Sherlock caresses her figure and kisses her forehead to calm her. "Our son is very brave, and smart, he has eluded him so far, and we will rescue him before he has a chance to do anything to harm him."

"John, will you go asks the pilot, to give us an estimation?"

The army doctor gets up and walks into the cockpit ... "How much longer Captain?"

"I'd say an hour before we reach the coast of Sudan, and two hours until we arrive in Al Quadarif."

"Wait, I know that voice. Mycroft is that you?"

"John, did you really think I would let you take her, without me being here to supervise."

"I don't believe what I'm hearing you're not here because of some bloody plane, you're here because you care about Hamish."

"Don't be ridiculous John," Mycroft weakly defends.

"Mycroft!"

"Fine, you've broken me. Yes, I care about him. That little mongrel is just like his father, which if it's possible; makes me care a great deal more about him, than I let on. So you can barade me all you want John, but the truth of the matter is, he's been kidnapped, and I want to help find him."

"Alright then, there's just one more thing I have to say to you..."

"I hope you've got something warmer to wear, other than that; thin business suit of yours... I hear it gets rather cold in Sudan this time of the year..."

Mycroft smirks.

...

The army doctor exits the cockpit, and returns to the cabin.

"Well?"

"Three hour's," John replies... "Oh, and your brother's here."

* * *

The days before; are becoming more and more of a distant memory. My parents, my friends, everyone I know are slowly fading. I don't know how much longer I can resist Moriarty. I don't know what he's planning, and the knowing that it involves me, makes my stomach knot. I need-

"Hamish wake up, I thought you could use an extra pillow, lift your head."

Hamish sleepily wipes his eyes, and lifts a few inches off his pillow.

Moriarty quickly places another pillow under Hamish, and leaves the boys room, almost as quickly as he had entered it...

 _Why did Moriarty wake me up to give me an extra pillow? This is out of character even for him. He's trying to mess with my head, he's trying to make me doubt who I am. I need to find out what he's planning._

...

"I think the boys onto us. Did you see the way he looked at you when you entered his room. He knows something."

Moriarty tips the rest of the liquid into his mouth, and places the glass on the table. "Relax Sebby, I have everything under control."

"Yeah, says the man drinking ginger ale. I hear Hitler drank that before his beer-hall speeches." Sebastian mocks.

"Believe me, It's not a personal choice. I need to stay sharp for my plan to be a success. Especially with his father trailing are arses. Speaking of which, have your radars picked up anything on the sensors yet?" Moriarty asks

"We expect them to arrive tomorrow morning."

"Is the device operational yet?" Moriarty inquires.

"Yes," Sebastian replies.

"Good. Tell everyone to pack up the equipment and anything else they deem useful. My little game of hide and seek has just begun."

* * *

 _ **Thank you for reading;) and sorry again for taking so long. Chapter 7 will be out next week, but it might be a tad late. But I won't take as long as I did this time... *gulp***_


	7. Chapter 7

**Super, Super sorry you guys. I've been super busy for a long time, so I didn't have any time to write hardly. I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

* * *

"So, let me get this straight. You knew this whole time, and you didn't tell me?" John huffs.

"You would have found out sooner or later, I had other matters that needed attending to. Besides, I'm not exactly thrilled he's come along for the ride. But sadly, we need him if we're going to be able to succeed in our mission."

...

"How is our young little soldier?"

"Sleeping like a rock," Sebastian replies.

"Good. Now, listen closely. I want you to transfer his bed inside the facility, and be absolutely careful not to disturb anything in the room, the slightest detail out of place could ruin everything. Put him inside and leave the room as you left it."

"Yes boss, right away."

Moriarty waits with anticipation, as he stares through the transparent casing. Everything was in pristine condition, from the the smiley face on the wall, the two leather chairs placed opposite of each other in the sitting room, or the handwoven Persian rug, sprawled out onto the hard Lancaster Oak floor. To the more small and elaborate decor; like the bust of Goethe, or the British Isles Map, and the skull resting gingerly atop the mantlepiece.

Moriarty continues to marvel at his engenius scheme. After everything is in place, he wipes an emphatic tear from his eye, and places his hand on the cool metal handle, and enters the room to finally begin what he's pondered and prepared for all those years. To once and for all, break Sherlock.

* * *

"Where am I?"

"No Hamish, the line is: But father, I already have an In-depth profile of him."

"Let's roll it again people. And... Action!"

"But father, I already have an In-depth profile of him."

"What do you mean you have an in depth profile? You've never met the man in your life. Stop this foolishness, we need to leave now son; or we'll miss our airplane."

"What is this place?" Hamish asks.

"No Hamish, when I say my line, you say your line. The one from the script."

"What do you mean what line? I don't use lines! I deduce," Hamish retorts.

"Alright, everybody take five and work out your scenes!" The director shouts, and stands up in an exhausted manor from his chair, and walks to a different part of the set.

...

"What was that?"

Hamish turns to face the tall looking man in a trench-coat, standing beside him. "Who are you?"

"Very funny Reid, you know perfectly well who I am, I'm Richard Brook, an actor just like you and we were acting a scene together before your little dialogue spurt ruined it."

"What?... Did you just call me Reid?" Hamish asks.

"Yes, that's your name Reid Jamison. You play the role of Hamish and I play the role of Sherlock. Did you hit your head this morning? You seem off."

"I'm certain I didn't hit my head, and I've already tested if I'm dreaming. The last thing I remember doing is eating dinner and then I show up here," Reid finishes.

"Of course, the studio had an honorary dinner party for us last night in commemorating six glorious years of friendship. You must have hit your head when you dropped that grape under the table. You even gave a speech, and I'll never forget your last words: ' _Thank you everyone for making a small boy actor, feel like one of the pros.'_

"But I don't remember any-" Reid is cut off.

"Ok people, break time is over, I trust everyone had enough time to get their heads screwed on straight. Everyone into your positions..." the director shouts.

"And...action!"

"To complete my analysis of the victim, we need to pay a visit to an old friend of mine, he's an expert in ancient symbols. He'll be able to shed more light on the origins of these strange markings."

"Where's my father?" Hamish inquires.

"Cut!"

"What do you mean? I'm right here son," Richard replies.

"No, you're not my father, you're Jim Moriarty my fathers arch enemy," Hamish huffs.

"What are you doing have you gone crazy? You're making us look foolish, what's gotten into you?" Richard chides.

The director walks up onto the stage. "Kid, If you don't get your act together; I'm afraid we're going to have find another Hamish. Now, take a moment to look over your lines, and for Gods sake! finish the scene. Do you got that?"

Hamish grabs the script out of the directors hand, and slowly excepts defeat. If he was going to find his way out, he'd better play along; and do his investigating after hours...

...

"Great job! out there Reid. Sorry about that whole replacement act kid, see you tomorrow. The director shakes his hand exuberantly, and heads out of the studio.

"Reid!"

"Who are you?" Hamish asks in a some-what fearful tone.

"I'm Amelia your girlfriend we've been dating for a year now... Oh you poor dear, they've been working you to the bone haven't they? Don't worry, after you get your hair and makeup dealt with, we can have some fun; just the two of us. Ok?"

Hamish nervously swallows and struggles to keep eye contact with his 'girlfriend.' _How can I have a girl friend? I'm only thirteen!_ Hamish scans her white flower dress, and her soft pinkish face and warm smile; enframed in her golden locks that hung off her shoulders...

"Hello!"

Hamish sees a hand wave in front of his face and snaps out of his entranced state. "Sure, Amelian see you later," Hamish replies.

"It's Amelia... Don't be too long, I can see you need a lot of downtime to regain.. certain cognitive skills."

Hamish hugs his girlfriend goodbye, and after what seems like an eternity he lets go of the embrace and is led over to the hair and makeup department.

* * *

The airplane slowly begins its decent and flips out the landing gear. The loud voice of the captain blasts through every intercom in the plane, telling the arrival of the destination. A fasten seatbelt sign, blinks above them.

The planes soon lands and Mycroft vacates the cockpit gathering the equipment for their mission. He hands over the remaining equipment to the others, and makes his way out of the jet "Be sure to bundle up warm gentlemen."

Sherlock walks suspiciously toward his brother. "What's that you're holding?"

"My own invention, it can track a target anywhere in the world within a thirty mile radius," Mycroft replies.

"Do you mean you planted a tracking device on my son without telling me? My son isn't one of your government experiments," Sherlock huffs.

"The information was irrelevant at the time. Besides, Hamish volunteered to test the device. I thought it best not to disturb you."

Before Sherlock can say anything further, the army doctor takes him aside, and speaks to him privately. "Instead of being angry at your brother, you should thank him for even thinking of planting a tracking device. Yes, he should have told you, but now we're not flying blind."

Sherlock gives John a foolish look. "I suppose you're right John.

"Mycroft, do you have a lock on him?" Molly inquires.

"Yes, he's 40 miles that way, and the nearest train station is 3 miles due east," Mycroft replies.

"Fine. Let's all put our differences aside, and look for Hamish." Molly finishes, tired of the arguing that's been taking place upon the arrival of her husbands brother.

The army doctor leads the group as they journey to Moriarty's headquarters.

* * *

"Amelia, can I ask you a question?"

"Of course Reid, you know you can ask me anything."

"Do you ever feel like none of this is real? almost like your just a phantom, existing but not really living, like you belong somewhere else?"

"Wow, I had no idea you had such an in depth philosophy on life. Sometimes, but only if I see flying horses or pink dolphins. Is that what you mean?" Amelia asks.

"... Um, yeah," Hamish replies.

"Good. Now, let's change the subject... how did work go today?"

"It went fine. I guess you can say that I found my groove."

Reid takes a sip of his juice and places the glass back on the table, "Amelia, I've had something on my mind all day now, and I just have to tell someone."

"Tell me," she replies.

"I'm not Reid Jamison, my name is Hamish W. Holmes and I live near 221.B Backerstreet, with my father, detective Sherlock Holmes and my mother, Pathologist Molly Hooper. My uncle is an army doctor from Afghanistan, and I sometimes solve cases texted to me by my fathers brother; Mycroft Holmes."

Amelia pauses for a moment before clapping wildly. "Wow, you're really getting into character, Reid; I believed every word."

Hamish face palms in desperation... "I'm not an actor, I'm a detective!"

"Alright Reid, you can stop that now. I know you're a good actor, but you should be having fun instead of running lines with me. Now, how about we see what's on tv... Ok?"

* * *

With only a few miles left, a train station comes into focus and the group boards...

...

Sherlock casually stares out at the fading sunlight ripping through the trees, and the numerous pastures and straw huts.

"You know, I've never actually told anyone this, but when we were children... I was jealous of you. Yes, I had all the girls and the business awards, but I never had the life that you did- I never got to relax. I had to be perfect all the time- be the perfect son that mummy and daddy craved. Where as you got to enjoy life, and you didn't have to worry about losing profits or crumbling an organization. Mummy always valued your scientific mind, and yearned for you to follow in her footsteps. But daddy, wanted me to be a rich, billionaire because he never strived for any material wealth." Mycroft looks over at His brother...

"Yes, I suppose she always did have high hopes for me, she wanted me to be a mathematician just like she was. She wanted me to live the world through her eyes, even though I elected to be a detective. A waste of genius was the daily diatribe I received from her, never wanting to attend my science fairs, but instead; going to you're spelling bees with daddy."

"And now... Now she's trying to make it up to me, but it's too late... the damage has already been done. Thirty-five years later, and we find out we were jealous of each other on a train in Sudan," Sherlock finishes.

Just then, the trains slows to a halt to let more passengers aboard...

A Sudanese woman carrying a goat boards the train and sits right in between the two brothers.

"Madam this is a very expensive suit, not your goats lunch. Will you be so kind as to turn your goat in the other direction?" Mycroft grumbles.

"You can't blame him for having expensive taste," the woman giggles.

The four of them crack up in laughter, and all the stressful moments earlier that day are forgotten...

After the excitement dies down, Molly lays back in her seat, and accidentally yawns...

"You look tired, why don't you go to sleep, and I'll wake you when we get there? Sherlock asks.

Molly sleepily nods, and soon falls asleep on his warm chest...

* * *

 **College is overwhelming so I have to put all my stories on Hiatus that I haven't finished yet. I'll try to update them when I can, but it might be a while. Anyway, what do you guys think of Amelia? Feel free to review;)**


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